


Fine lines.

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, I hate this game I hate the dev I hate this word I hate my life and yet I still wrote this, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: You hate her.(You think that might be a lie.)





	Fine lines.

**Author's Note:**

> 666 words ha

You hated her.

Her hair was orange, flowing in the wind as she hmpfed, turning her head to other way. Her cheeks flushed crimson, nose unturning as she tried to be unaffected. Her hair was in pigtails, pink bows clasped on top, all the while she still managed to look cute, and mature, never sacrificing anything, having the charm of both.

Really, she was stunning.

You hated her for it.

  
It was hate; raw in your bones, rippling through your veins. It was hate, hate, hate.

It was better than feeling nothing.

  
You'd never admit it but  
You liked her

Just a bit.

Hate was a feeling, and you clung to any feelings you have, so how could you not like her, just a bit, for making you feel something?

You loved taro, you did, you really did, but amidst the _blood_ and _killing_ and the feel of your _knife_ gliding through _skin_ , sometimes you forget why you're doing this. Love is such a boring emotion when flat—routine is something you want to avoid, but somehow you have fallen in one.

You love taro, you do, but he doesn't make you feel the strong addictive emotions that she does, the surge of raw, pure _feeling_ you get when you look her way.

You can't help but be addicted to her.

Taro is calm, a rippling wave on a shore, but she, she is fire.

And you've always been a pyromaniac.

  
There has always been nothing, as far as you can remember, nothing you cared for, no one. Maybe it was because no one cared about you. You weren't sure.

You knew though, your moms sickly sweet smiles and candy dew eyes, her words that felt like stab wounds, they were not healthy. You knew the love she went on about was a toxic kind, but you didn't know any others.

And so  
You stalk him, list all the girls he likes, because hey, it runs in your family, right?

But she's  
Different.

When you lace a wire around other girls neck there is nothing. No sorrow, no satisfaction, no regret. There is just a wire, a girl, and a dead body.

Just objects in a room.

You don't understand why you feel something towards her—why she stands out. She almost feels untouchable if you're honest, as if you tried to stab her the knife wouldn't ever hit. You know she's not, these thoughts are ridiculous, in the end they're all just _flesh_ and _bones_ and _blood_ getting between you, and what you want, what you _need_.

  
And you do need him—even if some days you can hardly remember his name, his face blurred out in a fog of time after obsessing over rivals—when did all the pictures on her bulletin board become her, again?—you need him. He is the boy you will bring back to mom and dad, the one who will have dinners with them and laugh nervously and be _normal_ , because he was normal, and maybe if you stayed by him maybe one day you could be normal one day too but—

But it doesn't appeal, really.

Being normal is boring, it tastes bitter in your mouth and reeks of giving up, and the nagging fear that if you don't push forward, don't do wilder and wilder stuff, don't hold on with all you have, that if you let go it will all fall apart. You'll go back to the days of your mother whispering her false love, giggles as she locks you in the closet, speeches that wind on and on—you'll go back to feeling nothing. _Being_ nothing.

You ignore it, because of course you do. You've put all your faith in this man, desperate and clinging, you wouldn't know what to do if you threw it all away, wouldn't know how to move forward.

You're mind whispers, _you don't really love him._

You can't find it in you to argue.

  
It's her you love, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate the word y*ndere and I hate the dev of this game and I hate life, yet here I am


End file.
